Cracks in the Mirror
by Shonashee
Summary: And it's stupid because he's still there, but his reflection isn't. It takes some time before he figures out he doesn't believe. And who is he if even he doesn't believe in himself?


**A/N: This was a story concept I had a couple years ago. The idea of Jack not being able to see himself because he stopped believing was something I couldn't avoid. So I finally got around to writing it, although it's more of a drabble than anything. It was fun, if not depressing to write. Anyway, this might be the last Rise of the Guardians fic I do, since I normally don't even write for this fandom, and this is the only idea I had that stuck with me.**

**Disclaimer~ As always, I don't own Rise of the Guardians.**

* * *

><p>Within the first twenty years or so, he figures out why he can't be seen.<p>

No one is there to give him direct answers of course. As he secretly watches the Sandman spread good dreams and a little girl's face lights up in delight as she gets a glance of the golden bringer of dreams just as she drifts off, he starts to understand. Especially since he saw the little girl tell her friends quite loudly exactly what she thought of all these supposed mythical figures- these 'guardians' -just the day before. Her belief in all of them is strong, and he can't help but notice his name never even pops up.

The same pattern occurs for the next century or so. All the people who believe in them see them. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and of course the first one he ever saw, the Sandman- they are all beloved.

But no one knows him.

No one knows he even exists.

So how can anyone believe? How can he ever be seen?

He strives to know what the others did to get the attention they did. He starts to think its bribery. All their gifts and blessings is what makes so many believe, after all. So he tries to give as well. He gives children- who he feels more attached to for some reason -snow. Beautiful crowns made of snowflakes for children who want to be Snow Kings or Queens, snowballs filled with a special type of spirit that helps them all get along, crazy adventures, the works.

Yet no one has noticed him yet.

It doesn't help that the other so-called 'guardians' make it a point to ignore him. He doesn't understand why. They can see him, so why don't they help him? Or do they only care about themselves? And those children, bought so easily by lies, he would never be good enough for them, would he?

If he stumbled and fell, would anyone hear him scream?

As his anger and hatred for being left alone for all these years manifested, that is what he started to believe. They never knew, they never understood the pain of being alone. The suffocating feeling of having a thousand pounds on your chest as you struggled to figure out what the hell you're doing wrong, because nothing was working, they never knew that. They never would understand. And he? He had been alone for as long as he could remember. He did know.

But as he entered the second century of his life and wars were abound everywhere and hatred was spread, his rage decreases. He wants to cry for all the innocent lives lost, but every tear that falls out of his eyes freeze on his cheeks. He tries to comfort children who are now orphans who could possibly be just alone as him. He strokes their hair as they sleep in their poor conditions. But they still don't see him. That doesn't matter as much as it did before. Their suffering hurts him more than his own.

Yet, it still hurts as they unconsciously move away from his ghostly touch in their sleep, as they pull their jackets and covers closer, bury their faces in their collars, as they shy away from the cold.

His cold.

It's then that he starts to think that this is all he'll ever be. Cold. He can always continue to exist, but no one will ever need him. They won't need his touch, which only hurts them. They won't need his mischief, which is already more of an annoyance to them even though they don't know someone is behind it. They won't need his smiles and laughter, which they can't see anyway.

And he starts to wonder- what is his purpose?

All he does is bring trouble. He has no point, nothing to bring to the world. He has nothing to live for, no friends or family, just nothing. He wants to fade, and the only thing that convinces him he's still there is because he can still see his own reflection.

His reflection keeps him sane.

But as he starts to think that he might not even exist, that he's just an idea with no real substance, his wish of fading is granted. His form in the mirror slowly becomes more transparent with every passing day, and even though he can feel himself still there, he isn't sure. He's scared that he'll be gone forever soon and he still hasn't done anything worthwhile.

And it's stupid because he's still there, but his reflection isn't. It takes some time before he figures out he doesn't believe. And who is he if even he doesn't believe in himself?

He panics, and he slams his fist into the mirror, hoping that his image will show up.

The mirror cracks, and a shard falls off and slices his hand open.

And the pain feels just so good.

It makes him remember how to feel, how to not become numb. And it's stupid, but he enjoys it. He starts to enjoy the feel of the tip of icicles against his wrists, his grip on the end as he pushes it in and drags it across, breaking the already fragile skin. He enjoys watching the blood pour out an taint the snow beneath him.

It reminds him that he is still there, that he does exist, and with a little luck, one day someone will notice him.

His pain, in the weirdest way possible, gives him hope for the future.

_Just a little more, _he tells himself. _Just wait a little bit more, and soon, you'll be rewarded._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It didn't exactly end the way I hoped it would, but at the same time, it had the mood that I wanted.**

**Thanks for reading, and please review, favorite, and follow!**


End file.
